


Moonlight and Ashes

by TheFandomPerson



Category: Dark Souls III
Genre: AU: Gwyndolin kills Aldrich, AU: Gwyndolin survives, Canon-Typical Violence, Dark Sun "I've never had legs before what do" Gwyndolin, Gen, God Brought Down To Human, Gwyndolin deserved better, Gwyndolin is Too Old For This Shit, The Sisterhood of Fuck This Shit, Three Unkindled MCs, a baby hexer, all the Ashen Ones have secrets, allusion to The Nameless King, an ex god and ex Black Hand walk into Firelink Shrine, canon-atypical friendship and dry humor, fix it kinda, gender-neutral Gwyndolin, i guess?, or Undead, what if
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-10
Updated: 2020-04-10
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:54:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23579500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheFandomPerson/pseuds/TheFandomPerson
Summary: The Saint of the Deep consumed the Dark Sun's power and body, but not their soul. Gwyndolin wakes up in the Cemetery of Ash, stripped of their godhood and branded with the Darksign. Now that they've survived their first encounter with Aldrich and Sulyvahn (after a fashion) the next step is to destroy them both, even if it takes collapsing Anor Londo and Irithyll on their worthless heads. Thankfully, Unkindled are inclined to stick together, or at least the two following Gwyndolin are. It's nice to have company for once, people who speak to them as an equal rather than a deity.Darla, an oddly perky hexer, and Hessia, a quiet pyromancer who knows an awful lot about stealth and espionage, aren't entirely sure what to think of their socially challenged, secretive ally who sometimes slips into antiquated linguistics and is named after a long-dead old god. But Gwyndolin's talent for sorcery, wide range of knowledge and oddly vast combat experience are indispensable in a land like Lothric. It's not until Irithyll, when the knights take one look at Gwyndolin and rush to inform the Pontiff that "the Dark Sun is alive" that they start questioning where Gwyndolin got all that knowledge...
Relationships: Dark Sun Gwyndolin & Ashen One(s)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 44





	Moonlight and Ashes

The Bells chimed, and Dark Sun Gwyndolin woke in a stone casket. 

The air smelled of rain and ash; not the most pleasant combination, but anything was a welcome change from the cold and rot that had long since taken over Anor Londo. Stiff and unsteady arms hauled their owner into a sitting position in their resting place filled with… sand? No, more ashes. An open stone casket filled with ashes. In a completely unfamiliar cemetery. How did they get here?

Gwyndolin remembered the ruined temple, the Deacons, the Pontiff and... well, the pains of illness were gone, and for all intents and purposes they seemed to be intact.

Gwyndolin tried to stand, and a new, very unsteady pair of legs sent them face first into the dirt. _Ow._ Okay, intact minus snakes, balance, and dignity. One thing at a time. 

They hauled themselves up awkwardly, leaning on their staff - when did they get a staff? Not that they were complaining, it was better than crawling. But where in the world were they? It was too warm to be Irithyll. The ground was clear of ice. None of the Pontiff's soldiers were patrolling the area, so Sulyvahn's influence hadn't made it this far, at least not yet. Good news, but their knowledge of lands outside Anor Londo didn't extend beyond a few dusty, probably outdated maps. They needed to find someone with their wits intact and figure out where they were.

They spotted hollows ahead; never a good sign. The transition from being fed to "Saint" Aldrich to waking up here had felt instantaneous, but had it actually been that quick? Gwyndolin realized they might have to figure out  _ when  _ they were as well as  _ where.  _ But first, hollows.

With practiced confidence Gwyndolin summoned up a soul arrow barrage, and immediately realized something was wrong.

One soul arrow fired. One that missed the undead by a long shot and alerted everyone to Gwyndolin's presence. With all the grace of a frenzied donkey they barely dodged the hollow's wild swings, careening into yet another hollow that had come from nowhere. A blow to the head left their ears ringing; they fell to the ground in a graceless heap. And just to add insult to injury, a third hollow they couldn't see fired off a crossbow, lodging a cold and sharp bolt into their throat. The first was winding up for a second go - 

Except it wasn't, and Gwyndolin was laying on the ground in front of the casket they woke up in, unharmed.  _ Huh? _

They had little time to wonder at the situation when an overpowering  _ sting _ shot through their arm.

Panicked, they peeled back the sleeve, and were left staring dumbfounded at the source.

Under the thin fabric, a circle of fire was embedded in the skin of their arm, slowly fading into a dark ring like a brand. There was no mistaking it; they, masquerading as Gwynevere, had sent an endless parade of "Chosen Undead" marked with the same sign to become kindling for the First Flame.

Dark Sun Gwyndolin, youngest child of Lord Gwyn, god of the moon and patron of the Darkmoon Knights, was now even worse than mortal - they were  _ Undead _ .

The rows and ravens were startled from their trees by an angry cry and the sudden  _ thud  _ of a small shield being thrown violently at the ground.

Gwyndolin froze at the unexpectedly loud noise, as if standing still would make them invisible to hollows. Thankfully, nothing seemed to be drawn to the noise. Gwyndolin sighed with relief, collapsed on the ground and smacked their forehead at their own stupidity. That had been pointlessly risky and juvenile, but what were they supposed to be doing? What in Gwyn's name was the  _ right  _ response to this? There were no lessons on what to do if one unintentionally cheated death at the cost of their divinity!

Gwyndolin sat up, stretched over and snatched their shield from the dirt. They really didn't feel like trying to stand again just yet. Just… deep breaths. Nice and easy, just like big brother had taught them.

Something had seen fit to spare Gwyndolin from a slow death at the hands of that corrupted upstart, at the cost of their godhood. Was this Velka's doing, some kind of punishment for continuing father's work? Or was this what would happen to any god consumed by a monstrosity like Aldrich, and Gwyndolin had just been the first one unlucky enough to find out? They didn't know, and they didn't have the slightest clue how to find out.

Gwyndolin tried to conjure their soul arrow barrage again. One perfect arrow, then a wisp of blue flickered pathetically into existence, only to snuff out like a match in the wind. Whatever had spared them from Aldrich, it conveniently left them with the arcane equivalent of a dinner knife against a firing squad.

Gwyndolin took stock of what little they had on hand; a dagger, a pair of estus flasks, the most basic sorcerer's staff they'd ever seen and a small shield sturdy enough to withstand their brief temper tantrum. That was all the God of the Darkmoon had left to their name. So what now?

Gwyndolin stood slowly, feet apart like they had seen knights do during training. It helped, a little. If there were answers to any of their questions, they wouldn't be found by sitting around doing nothing.

**Author's Note:**

> First ever Dark Souls fic. Gwyndolin wakes up as an Unkindled without any of their godly powers and plots revenge on Aldrich. How the game SHOULD have been IMO.
> 
> I have never written a character with singular they/them pronouns before. I felt kind of... disconnected from their POV I guess?? I usually think of Gwyndolin with male pronouns but I know it's a sensitive topic and I don't need some idiotic vocal minority telling me to kill myself over a fanfic.


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